


ballon

by callmearcturus



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3542774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmearcturus/pseuds/callmearcturus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set at the tail end of <i>Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts</i>. Lady Inquisitor Lavellan has caught the eyes of several people at the Winter Palace. Dorian thankfully cuts in.<br/>(Dorian/F!Lavellan friendship, background Lavellan/Cullen, Lavellan/Bull, Lavellan/Josephine.)<br/>AKA: in which someone other than Josie or the LI meets the Inquisitor on the balcony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ballon

It was not until the Empress Celene and Ambassador Briala finished their speeches to the court that the Inquisitor finally took a deep breath, the first of the night. It was done. Whatever she had worked to accomplish, it was now actually _accomplished._

There had been a toast, and she was left with most of a glass of white wine after it. With the day as saved as it was going to get, Lavellan knocked back the rest of the her glass, immediately swapping it for another full one before stepping out onto the closest balcony. 

Anything to be out of that ballroom. Anything to be able to let her shoulders slump. Josie had been very stern about Lavellan’s appearance, had coached her posture into something that suited the court.

Holding that pose for so long, she’d worried she’d become stuck that way, rooted and upright like an old, stubborn tree. Finally sagging forward, leaning on the balcony’s ornate stone work, was an intense relief.

The night was chill, enough to just barely sting the skin and her narrow ears as the wind blew against the Winter Palace. With her dress uniform, Lavellan was almost overwarm, and drained her second glass of chilled wine in hopes it would help.

Left on the rim of the glass was a smudge of red, and she grit her teeth. A swipe of her thumb against her mouth didn’t do the trick, and she started patting down her pockets for something she could use. Did she have pockets? It was hard to tell like this, dressed up as a particularly gaudy couch. Or  _chaise_ , as the Orlesians would say.

There were footsteps behind her. She froze, shutting her eyes and gathering her composure in case it was the three handmaidens or another noble she was supposed to know. Or the Empress,  _spirits and gods in the green_ , she hoped it wasn’t the Empress.

"You are going to smudge that and our lady ambassador is going to throttle you with that silk sash," Dorian said, voice jovial but softer than usual, something low and private as he joined her at the edge. "Desyra, smile. You’ve just saved the Orlesian Empire from ruin, exposed a traitor, and reunited estranged lovers." He was broader than her in the dress uniform and stepped carefully between her and the doorway, blocking the courtiers’ view. From somewhere, possibly the pockets that she’d been unable to locate, he drew out a handkerchief, lifting his eyebrows at her.

"Take care, Dorian," she murmured. "Someone might overhear and realize you’re a romantic." Obligingly, she tipped her head up for him, relaxing as his hand cupped her chin, holding her still as he swiped away the paint Josie had applied herself to Lavellan’s lips.

” _I’m_  the romantic?” Dorian scoffed softly, tracing the bow of her mouth diligently, the handkerchief dotting with violet red, a dark hue meant to compliment her dark skin. “I did not bend over backwards to reconcile the two lovers. I did not fake interest in the dowager’s warbling over her fifteen dead husbands—”

"Seven," Lavellan corrected, the covered her eyes with a hand. "Or… I think it was seven?"

” _I_  did not dance with Florianne and ignore the green-eyed stares,” Dorian went on, ignoring her interruption. He released her chin, tucking the handkerchief away again and smirking down at Lavellan. “Romantic, she says, such accusations.”

"Reuniting Briala and Celene was the best option, and  _what_  staring? Who stared?” She had thought she’d been so observant through the evening, and yet she had no idea what Dorian meant.

"Oh, a few people here and there." He waved his hand dismissively before leaning on the railing. She joined him, glad to put her back to the ballroom again and tuck her face close to his, enjoying the way his voice got hushed. "The court, of course, watching like hawks or vultures or whatever carnivorous bird of prey you prefer, you know the tales of their distastes for elves are only matched by the rumors of their  _tastes_  for elves.” She wrinkled her nose, but Dorian continued, ticking off fingers. “The Empress was quite keen.  _Bull_  actually showed up to watch the display, tearing himself away from the snacks. And Josie nearly spilled her drink on one of the Council when she saw.” His lips curled upward and he dragged a finger across his mustache, smoothing it. “And  _Cullen_ , well.”

” _Fenedhis._ " She glanced over her shoulder, biting her lip. Through the archway, some of her companions were clearly lingering and trying not to seem like they were waiting for her. There was, predictably, Cullen, who looked like he’d been eating nothing but lemons the entire night. His headache was still a problem clearly.

As she watched, he looked up at her, eyes catching. For the first time since they arrived, a ghost of a smile haunted his lips.

She looked away, leaning her face into her hand to hide the sudden heat in her face. “ _Fenedhis lasa_.”

"Indeed," Dorian said with a chuckle. "I heard someone in our lively entourage mentioned ‘dance’ and thought I might see to you first. I hope you don’t mind me _cutting in_.”

"No. I am thinking of knocking down that decrepit Andraste statue in the courtyard and putting up one of you in its stead, actually."

"Ooh, I am normally against such blatant disrespect of Chantry relics but I could get behind that idea. Could we use marble? I was just telling Cassandra the other day I would look good in marble."

"You say that like there’s anything you  _wouldn’t_  look good in,” she pointed out, smiling. A tension in her shoulders eased, the effect of a spool of yarn unwinding slowly. “Is it that bad?”

"You need to have a word with Cullen at least," Dorian murmured. "Bull, I think, understands you don’t mean anything by all the…"

Lavellan winced. “I don’t…  _not_  mean anything by it.” She rubbed her temples. “It’s just… it’s easy, you know?”

"Oh, I do. If anyone in this madhouse does, I do." He patted her arm reassuringly. "Stop it, then, I told you. You did fine work tonight, Syra."

"Then why do I want to get blindingly drunk right now?" She cast her eyes around, hoping Dorian had brought his own glass of wine. She could confiscate it. She was the Inquisitor and the Herald of Andraste. It was within her rights.

"Because you did fine work for  _Orlesians_  while trussed up in dress uniform that does you no favors.” He lifted the back of his hand to her cheek, the leather of his glove only moderately darker than her skin. “I don’t know what our ambassador was thinking.”

"That we have to express our unity visually and appear formidable and emphasis our military strength and… other things I forgot." She closed her hand around his, squeezing. A thought occurred to her as she casually held her mage’s hand. With a glance over her shoulder, she confirmed that their group was still hovering.

Cullen was looking, and she saw the way his eyes widened as he realized she’d caught him. It was certainly endearing, the way he turned sharply away, trying to seem like he’d not been staring.

Yeah. She’d have to do something about that soon. She smiled. “Dorian.”

"Hm?"

"Would you do me the greatest favor and dance with me?"

Dorian straightened, his eyebrows high. “Desyra! How forward of you. I do believe I would be skipping the line.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped away from the balcony, breathing out a sigh as Dorian followed despite his token protests. “ _Please_  do.”

He smiled and stepped in. Under his direction, she twined her fingers in his, their clasped hands lifted as he wrapped his free arm halfway around her waist. “This is a temporary solution, you know.”

"I know," she said. "But it’s been a long night."

"I understand. Here, allow me the rare privilege of leading."

She did, her head hanging for a moment, barely resting against Dorian’s chest. After a long, deep breath, she squared her shoulders, lifting her chin, and followed her friend’s steps as he drew her into lazy circles in time with the music.

The cool air was bracing, and so was Dorian.

**Author's Note:**

> ballon: the ability of a dancer to remain suspended in air during a jump.


End file.
